The next day, I ran.
Not because I had to. Not because anyone told me to. I ran because stopping meant letting doubt catch up. Because every step forward was another cut into weakness. Because if the gods wouldn't make me powerful, I'd carve that power into myself.
The morning was cool, the sky still softening into blue. No duties today. No instructor.
Just the sound of breath and steps.
A few hours later, I saw her—walking toward where I was.
Kisaya.
She was moving across the outer path, her presence like something sharp hidden in silk. I adjusted course without thinking, angling toward her until our paths crossed.
"Morning" I said, panting slightly.
She smiled. "You're out early."
"Had to move."
We walked for a while. Easy pace. Words came and went until she said:
"I'm heading to the Temple of Inanna. To learn about my blessing—and my Edict. Want to come with me?"
I hesitated.
I didn't want to go to any temple. Because I knew I wouldn't be welcome there.
I looked at her face. She clearly wanted me to come. I sighed.
Then I nodded. "Yeah."
Her face lit up the second I said it. Her smile stretched, bright and easy.
"Good" she said, clearly happy. "Let's go, Eresh."
We took the long road. The city was starting to stir—vendors calling out, guards changing shifts, prayers drifting from windows.
It wasn't until we passed the spice market that she spoke again.
"Our uncle found out" she said, quiet and sharp.
"Who?"
"Kudur. He knows you weren't chosen."
I stopped for half a step. "Already?"
"He wants to stir up trouble."
Of course he does.
"They're keeping things from me already" I muttered.
I brushed it off, but it stayed with me. Kudur had been exiled years ago after trying to seize the throne during a time of weakness. He failed, but not without leaving a stain on the royal bloodline. And exile didn't erase ambition. It didn't erase allies either. Some of his former supporters still held positions within the palace—people who bowed with their backs straight and watched with quiet hunger. He couldn't do much. Not openly. Not yet.
By the time we reached the temple grounds, we weren't speaking. Each of us had drifted into our own thoughts. The silence felt tighter than before.
As the priests and attendants came into view, the whispers started.
"The unchosen prince..."
"That's him."
I heard them. Every syllable.
My hands curled into fists.
Kisaya turned to me. "Are you okay?"
I nodded.
We entered. She stepped forward, knelt at the altar. I stood off to the side, eyes drifting back toward the palace. The stone beneath me felt colder here, but maybe it was just in my head.
Incense lingered in the air, the scent clinging faintly to the temple walls. Mixed with it was the smell of worn stone, sun-baked dust, and something metallic—old offerings, perhaps. The walls were carved with symbols of devotion, and the air pulsed with reverence too thick for me to breathe comfortably.
I let my gaze wander toward the towering statue at the center of the hall: Inanna, carved in alabaster, gaze forward, lips unreadable. She looked strong. Unmoving. The kind of presence that demanded belief.
I stared at her longer than I meant to.
Why wasn't I chosen?
I deserved it.
Minutes passed.
Kisaya rose to her feet. Her expression was calm, there was a clarity in her eyes that hadn't been there before.
"I'm ready" she said.
I looked at her. "You know now?"
She nodded. "War—no surprise there. And my Edict? I already had a feeling. But now I'm sure of it."
I gave a small nod and started to turn—
—but stopped when I sensed her hesitation.
Her eyes flicked to the priests, then back to me. Something restless stirred beneath her calm.
Then she leaned in, lips close to my ear.
"Do not repress what is born from passion."
I froze. My body tensed before my mind caught up. I glanced around—quick, sharp. No one nearby.
"You shouldn't say that out loud."
"I wanted to. I had to."
And I understood.
Her Edict didn't allow silence. Didn't allow hesitation. Whatever she felt—love, fury, loyalty, fear—she had to act. She couldn't bury it or lock it away. That made her unpredictable. Dangerous in the wrong moment, unstoppable in the right one. But if she ever cared too much for the wrong person, it would become a problem. Her Edict left no room for pretending. No time to wait. What she felt, she had to act on.
I lowered my voice. "Be careful."
She nodded. "Always."
The next day, we returned to the training chamber.
The instructor stood at the center.
"Good morning. I trust you've begun to understand your blessings and your Divine Edicts."
Some nodded in quiet agreement, while others exchanged glances and smirked. Tarin—the one with the dark, curly hair and sharp jaw who'd mocked me last week. I'd learned his name not long after that day—muttered again, just loud enough:
"We all know who hasn't."
A few laughed at that.
I said nothing. Took my seat.
Fists tight. Breath steady.
"Silence" the instructor snapped.
He began to walk slowly around the center of the room.
"Until now, you've learned to cover your hand in spiritual energy. You've learned to feel it, control it, concentrate it to a single point. That was the foundation."
He raised his finger and paused, letting the weight of the next step settle in.
"Now, we take it further. You already know how to concentrate the energy into the tip of your finger. Now, maintain that focus with a steady stream—a thread that must not falter. Once it's stable, you will pass your will into it. Not just shape it, but command it. Send that command into the air. Etch it. The command itself is this: to overwrite the world. Not all at once, but one line at a time—each stroke a challenge to what already exists."
I watched the way his finger moved through the air. His fingertip cut slowly, deliberately—tracing a path I couldn't see, but knew was there.
But the others stared, wide-eyed.
"That line you just saw—that was a Divine Trace. A motion guided by controlled spiritual energy and intent. That's how you're meant to form the runes you've received. When it's done correctly, with perfect form and steady flow, the ability inside it activates."
"But be warned: instability leads to failure. A flawed shape, uneven power—you won't just fail. You might bleed."
He demonstrated again. Lines. Circles. Spirals.
"Precision. Each line must hold the same energy. The shape must be exact. The will behind it must be clear."
Students nodded. Focused.
A student raised his hand. "What does the color or brightness of the energy actually change?"
The instructor answered. "With the same amount of spiritual energy, a rune formed from energy that's harder to control will be stronger. Brighter or more intense color isn't just more volatile—it carries more weight. If you master it, it hits harder."
The student nodded once, slowly, and lowered his hand.
"Begin" the instructor ordered.
The students moved at once.
A room full of people waving their fingers through empty air.
I stood.
No words. No protest.
I left. Again.
The instructor didn't say a word. Just looked past me like I wasn't even there. Kisaya shot me a quick, worried glance, but didn't speak.
Outside, I returned to the field. Drew the sword. My body knew what to do.
Steel, not spirit.
As I trained, I glanced toward the hall.
Inside, the instructor's voice rang out—sharp, measured, guiding each correction with precision.
"Your energy is unstable."
"Your flow shifted halfway through."
"Uneven on the edge."
They adjusted. Tried again.
I kept moving.
Hunger to sharpen, to rise above every silence, every laugh, every gaze that said I didn't belong. Every step, every strike—it wasn't punishment. It was my answer.
***
AN: Hi. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'd really appreciate any reviews or feedback you can offer, as they help me grow. And if you enjoy the book, please consider adding it to your library. Thank you for reading!